The Ocean Cat's Paw: The Story of a Strange Cruise

by George Manville Fenn

  CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE.

  UP A TREE.

  "Put your backs into it, my lads," cried Joe Cross, almost fiercely."Steady! Steady all, and look out that you don't have a smash. Pull!Hard! Here, I shall be tugged out of the boat!"

  For it seemed almost directly after that the dimly-seen hull of the brigrose up out of the darkness close at hand, while from where he knelt--fortunately for himself--the coxswain felt his arms being jerked out oftheir sockets as he caught with the boat-hook at the brig's main chains."Stand by there!" he roared, as he held on. "Lend a hand here to helpthe gentlemen on board! Somebody say it in French! Up with you!"

  There was no need for the use of another tongue, for a lantern shed itslight down upon them, willing hands were ready, and the Count and Mornyscrambled aboard.

  The next moment the Count was giving orders for a rope to be passed downto the boat.

  "Make fast, and come on board!" he shouted. "You'll never get backto-night."

  The order came too late, for as he spoke another order was given out byJoe Cross, who had loosed the precarious hold he had with the boat-hook,as he shouted while giving the boat a thrust away--

  "Now for it, my lads! Pull for all you know!"

  Almost the next moment Rodd dimly saw that they were clear, and as themen tugged at their oars with all their might he dropped upon his kneesin front of stroke, clapped his hands against the oar, and swinging withthe man, thrust with all his force.

  Five minutes of desperate tugging at the oars in the midst of darknesswhich seemed to rapidly increase. The men had rowed with all theirforce--not to get back to the schooner, but to reach the brig and one ofher ropes that they knew would be thrown to their help; but to Rodd, ashe strained his eyes from where he knelt striving to give force to thestroke oar, it was like catching so many glimpses, first of the brig'sside, then of its stern, and then once more it was as if they werestanding still in the water and the brig was rushing away.

  "Steady, my lads! Don't break your hearts!" cried Joe Cross firmly, hisvoice ringing clearer out of the black silence. "It aren't to be done.Mid-stream's our game. If we try to get ashore we shall be among thebranches, capsized in a moment, and--"

  The sailor did not finish his speech then, but Rodd did to himself, andhot though he was with his exertions, a cold shiver seemed to runthrough him, as he mentally said--

  "The crocodiles!"

  "That's better, my lads. Just a steady pull, and I'll keep as I am withthe boat-hook. We mustn't have a capsize."

  "What are you going to do, Joe?" cried Rodd.

  "Don't know, sir," said the man gruffly. "Perhaps you can tell me."

  "I? No," cried Rodd.

  "Ah! That's awkward," said the man. "I don't know what the skipper wasabout to set us on this job. That's the worst of being a sailor. Theytrains us up to 'bey orders directly they're guv, and we does them, butone never knows how to be right. I oughter ha' told the old man as thiswas more'n men could do; 'cause I half thought it were. But then I saysto myself, the skipper knows best; and here we are in a nice hole."

  "A nice hole!" cried Rodd angrily. "Why, we shall be swept out to sea."

  "Looks like it, sir--I mean seems."

  "But why not make for the shore, where we could catch hold of some ofthe overhanging branches?"

  "I telled you, sir. 'Cause we should be capsized before we had time towink. Steady, my lads--steady! It's no use to pull, Mr Rodd; fourtimes as many of us couldn't stem a stream like this."

  "Will they come down after us? Yes, my uncle is sure to."

  "Not he, sir. It would be just about mad to try it, and our old manwill be so wild at being caught like this that he won't let him stir.'Sides that, sir, what are you talking about? How are they to know wehave been swept away?"

  "Because we don't come back, of course," cried Rodd angrily.

  "That won't do, sir. Skipper knows, of course, after the way we wentoff, that it's just impossible."

  "But the Count will tell him."

  "Too far off for shouting, sir. You take my word for it that theskipper will make up his mind that we are stopping on board the brigtill the tide runs slack again. If anything's done it will be by theFrenchies, and I don't believe they'll try."

  "Oh, but the Count would. His son would make him."

  "No, sir. The Count's a fine naval officer who has seen service, and heknows too well what he's about to send a boat's crew swirling down thisriver to go nobody knows where. The only folks as can help us is--"

  "Yes--who?" cried Rodd, for the man broke off in his speech.

  "Ourselves, sir; and we shall find it precious hard."

  "That's right, Joe," said one of the other sailors. "Better speak out,mate, and say the worst on it."

  "Say it yourselves," cried Joe Cross roughly.

  "Yes, speak out," cried Rodd. "What do you think?"

  "We can do nothing, sir, but keep her head straight and go down with thetide, doing all we can to keep from being sucked into the shore amongthe trees."

  "But look here, Joe, aren't we very close in now?" cried Rodd, who hadjust noticed in the darkness that the sailor he addressed was leaningover the bows and straining his eyes in one particular direction.

  For answer the man yelled to his messmates to pull with all their might.

  The oars dipped, but at the second stroke there was a crashing rustlingsound of twigs, followed by a sharp crackling and snapping, as they wereswept in amongst the pendant branches of some huge forest tree, onebough striking Rodd across the shoulders and holding him as it werefast, so that the boat was being dragged from beneath him.

  Then there was more grinding of the gunwale of the boat amongst theboughs, the water came swishing in over the side, and directly after thefrail vessel partly turned over, with her keel lying sideways to therushing tide.

  Then more crackling and rustling amongst the boughs, mingled withshouting from the boat's crew, and from out of the confusion, andsomewhere above him in the pitchy darkness and low-lying night mist,came the voice of Joe Cross--

  "Now then, all of you! Where away?"

  "Here!"

  "Here!"

  "All right, mate!"

  "Lend a hand, some one!"

  "Are you all here?" cried Joe Cross again.

  "Ay, ay, ay, ay!" came in chorus.

  "But I don't hear the young guvnor."

  There was silence.

  "Where's Mr Rodd?"

  A moment's pause, and then--

  "Mr Rodd! Ahoy!"

  "Here, Joe, here!" came in half-suffocated tones.

  "Wheer, my lad?" cried the man excitedly.

  "Here! Here! Help!"

  "But where's yer _here_, lad? I can't see you.--Can any of you? Oh,look alive, some on you! Get hold of the boy anywhere--arms or legs oranything--and hold on like grim death."

  There was a sharp rustling of leaves and twigs which pretty well drownedRodd's answer--

  "I'm down here."

  "Where's _down here_, my lad? Are you under the boat?"

  "No, no. Hanging to a bough, with the water up to my chest, andsomething's tugging at me to drag me away."

  "Oh, a-mussy me!" groaned the sailor. "Why aren't it to-morrow morningand sun up? Can't any of you see him?"

  "No, no, no, no!" came back, almost as dismally as groans.

  "Well, can't you feel him, then?"

  "No."

  "I am here, Joe--here!" panted the lad. "Higher up the river than youare. A big branch swept me out of the boat."

  "Ah, yes, we went under it," groaned Joe. "Well, lads, he must be theother side of the tree. Here, where's that there boat? Can any of yousee it?"

  "No; we are all on us in the tree?"

  "Well, I don't suppose you are swimming," roared Cross savagely. "Dosomething, some on you! Thinking of nothing but saving your own blessedlives! Are you going to let the poor lad drown?"

  "Here, coxswain, why don't you tell us what to
do?" snarled one of themen.

  "How can I," yelled Joe, "when I don't know what to do mysen? Oh, don'tI wish that I had got the skipper here! I'd let him have it warm!"

  "Joe! Joe!" came out of the darkness. "I can't hold on! I can't holdon!"

  "Yah, you young idgit!" roared the sailor. "You must!"

  "I can't, Joe--I can't!" cried Rodd faintly, and there was a gurglingsputtering sound as if the water had washed over him.

  "Oh-h!" groaned Joe. "Don't I tell you you must! Hold on by your armsand legs--your eyelids. Stick your teeth into the branch. We area-coming, my lad.--Oh my! what a lie!" he muttered. Then aloud, and ina despairing tone, "Can any one of you get up again' the stream to wherehe is?"

  "No!" came in a deep murmur. "If we go down we shall be washed away."

  "Same here," groaned Joe. "I'm a-holding on with the water right up tothe middle, and just about ready to be washed off. I can't stir. Oh,do one of you try and save the poor dear lad! I wish I was dead, I do!"

  "Joe!" came faintly.

  "Ay, ay, my lad!"

  "Tell Uncle Paul--"

  The words ended in a half-suffocated wailing cry, and almost the nextmoment there was a tremendous splashing of water, and the snapping of agood-sized branch, followed by sounds as of a struggle going on upon thesurface of the rushing stream as it lapped and hissed amongst thetangled boughs and twigs.

  "Hold hard!" yelled Joe. "Anywhere.--Got him, boys--_urrrrr_!--"

  It was as if some savage beast had suddenly seized its prey. Then therewas a loud panting and more crackling as of branches giving way, anddirectly after, in answer to a volley of inquiries, Joe Cross pantedout--

  "Yes, I've got him, my lads, and he's got his teeth into me; but I don'tknow how long we can hold on."

  "You must hold on, Joe!" shouted a voice.

  "Stick to him, messmate! I'm a-trying to get to you."

  There was more crackling in the darkness, and a peculiar subdued soundas of men panting after running hard; but it was only the hard breathingof excitement.

  "Have you got him still, Joe?" came in gasps.

  "Yes, my lad, but he's awful still and I don't know that he aren'tdrowned.--No, he aren't, for he's got his teeth into my shoulder, andhe's gripping hard. But the water keeps washing right up into my ear."

  "Hoist him up a little higher," panted the other speaker.

  "How can I? I've got my arm round him, but if I stir it means let go.What are you doing, mate?"

  "Trying to get down to you, but as soon as I stir the bough begins tocrack."

  "Steady, mate, steady! I can't see you, but I can hear, and if you comedown on us we are gone. Here, I say, it will be hours before it'smorning, won't it?"

  There was a groan in reply--a big groan formed by several voices inunison.

  "But how long will it be before, the tide goes down and leaves us?"

  There was no reply, and a dead silence fell upon the occupants clingingto different portions of the tree, all of whom had managed with thestrength and activity of sailors to drag themselves up beyond the reachof the water and at varying distances from where Joe Cross clung withone messmate hanging just above his head.

  "Well, look here, messmates," said Joe at last, "it's no use to make theworst on it. I've got the young skipper all right, and he's growingmore lively, for he just give a kick. Now who's this 'ere? It's you,Harry Briggs, aren't it?"

  "Ay, ay, mate; me and water, for I swallowed a lot before I got out ofit."

  "Now, look here; how are you holding on?"

  "Hanging down'ards, my lad, with my hind legs tied in a knot round a bigbough; and I keep on trying to get hold of you by the scruff, but Ican't quite reach."

  "Why, that's a-hinging like the bees used to do outside my old mother'sskep. Well, you mustn't let go, my lad, else down you come."

  "Well, I know that, mate," growled the man. "But I say, can't you reachup to my hands?"

  "Yah! No!" growled Joe. "I've only got two. Can't you reach down alittle further and get hold of my ears, or something?"

  "My arms aren't spy-glasses, and they won't reach within a foot of you.Can any of you swarm out above us here?"

  "No--no--no!" came in voice after voice, from points that were evidentlyfairly distant.

  "Oh!" groaned the sailor addressed as Harry. "Fust time in my blessedlife I ever wished I was a 'Merican monkey."

  "What for, mate?" panted Joe.

  "So as to make fast round this 'ere branch with my tail."

  "Joe! Joe!" came in a low hoarse tone. "Where am I!"

  "Well, you are here, my lad; but don't let go with your teeth. Takeanother good fast hold, but more outside like. Keep to the wool of thejumper--if you can."

  "Hah! I recollect now. We are in the water, and I have got hold ofyou."

  "That's right, my lad, and I'd say take a good fast holt of my hair,only Ikey Gregg scissored it off so short when it turned so hot thatthere's nothing to hold. But can you hyste yourself up a bit higher?"

  "I'll try, Joe; but the water drags at me so. But, Joe, what are youholding on to?"

  "What they'd call a arm of the tree, sir."

  "But if I try to climb up you shan't I drag you loose?"

  "Oh, I'm no consequence, my lad. If I'm washed off I shall get holdagain somewheres. Never you mind me. There's Harry Briggs up alofta-reaching down a couple of his hands. If you feel you've got stuffenough in you.--Take your time over it, my lad--you see if you can'tswarm a bit up me and then stretch up and think you are at home tryingto pick apples, till Harry gets a big grip of your wristies; and thenyou ought to be able to swarm up him. Now then, do you think you cantry?"

  "Yes, Joe; I think so," panted the boy. "That's right, my lad. I'dgive you a lift, only I can't, for I'm in rotten anchorage, and wemustn't get adrift."

  About a minute passed, in which little was heard but the whishing of thewater through the leaves and twigs, and the sound of hard breathing.Then Joe spoke again--

  "I don't want to hurry you, my lad, but if you think you can manage itI'd say, begin."

  "I'm ready now, Joe," said the boy faintly. "But do you think you canhold on?"

  "Aren't got time to think, my lad. You go on and do it. That's yourjob, and don't you think as it's a hard 'un. Just you fancy thedoctor's yonder getting anxious about you, and then--up you goes."

  "Yes, Joe," panted Rodd.

  "And once you get hold of Harry Briggs' hands he'll draw you up a bit.He's a-hinging down like one of them there baboons, tail up'ards. Then,once he hystes you a bit, you get a good grip of him with your teethanywhere that comes first. He won't mind. That'll set your hands free,and then up you goes bit by bit till you gets right into the tree."

  "Yes, Joe; and then?"

  "Well, my lad, then I'd set down striddling and have a rest."

  "Below there! Ready!" cried Briggs. "I can't reach no further,youngster, but I think if you can climb up and grip we might manage it."

  "Yes! Coming!" cried Rodd.

  And then no one saw, and afterwards Rodd could hardly tell how hemanaged it, but with the water pressing him closer as he clung face toface with the partially submerged coxswain, he managed to scramblehigher, clinging with arms and legs, till he occupied a hazardousposition astride of the sailor's shoulder, holding on with his left handand reaching up with his right, snatching for a few moments at nothing.

  "Where are you, my lad?" came from above.

  "Here! Here!" panted Rodd, and then, "Ah, it's of no use!"

  As he spoke he felt himself going over, but at that moment his fingerstouched the sleeve of a soft clinging jersey, a set of fingers grippedhard at his arm, and in a supreme effort he loosened his other hand,made a snatch, and then began swinging gently to and fro till anotherhand from above closed upon his jacket and lightened the strain.

  "Got you, my lad!" came from overhead. "Now look here; I'm not going tohyste you up, 'cause I can't, but I am going to swing you
back'ards andfor'ards like a pendulo till you can touch this 'ere bough where I amhanging, and then go on till you can get your legs round it and holdfast. Understand?"

  "Yes," panted Rodd.

  "Now then. Belay, and when you get hold you shout."

  It was the work of an acrobat, such as he would have achieved in doubtand despair.

  The sailor began swinging the boy to and fro, to and fro, with more andmore force, till Rodd felt his legs go crashing in amongst the thicktwigs of the great bough that was drawn down by the weight of the twoupon it a good deal below the horizontal.

  "Harder!" he cried, as he swung back, and then as his legs went well inagain he felt that a thick portion was passing between his knees, andthrusting forward his feet with all his might he forced them upwards anddirectly afterwards passed them one across the other in a desperate gripwhich left him dragging on the sailor's hands.

  "Fast, my lad?"

  "Yes."

  "Can you hold on?"

  "Yes."

  "Then good luck to you!" cried the sailor, as, relieved of the boy'sweight, he too swung head downwards for a moment or two, then with aquick effort wrenched himself upwards, got hold of the branch with bothhands, and after hanging like a sloth for a few moments, succeeded indragging himself upon the bough, which all the while was swaying heavilyup and down and threatening to shake Rodd from where he hung, but at thesame time inciting him so to fresh desperate action, that with all aboy's activity he too had succeeded in perching himself astride of thebranch.

  "All right, my lad?" cried Briggs.

  "Ye-es!" came gaspingly.

  "Then you wait a bit and get your wind, my lad.--Joe Cross! Ahoy!" heyelled, as if his messmate were half-a-mile away.

  "Right ho!" came from below. "Where's the boy?"

  "Here, Joe--here!" shouted Rodd, the sound of the man's voice seeming tosend energy through him.

  "Hah-h-h!" came from the sailor, and directly after from different partsof the tree there was a cheer.

  "Now then, what about you, matey?" shouted Briggs.

  "Well, I dunno yet, my lad; I'm just going to try and shape it round. Iwant to know where some of the others are, and whether if I let go Icouldn't manage to make a scramble and swim so as to join a mate."

  "No, no, no!" came in chorus. "Don't try it, lad. Aren't you safewhere you are?"

  "Well, I don't know about being safe," replied the sailor. "Mebbe Icould hold on, but here's the water up to my chesty; and don't make arow, or you'll be letting some of those crocs know where I am. Lookhere, Mr Rodd, sir; are you all right?"

  "Yes, Joe; I can sit here as long as I like.--That is," he added tohimself, "if the branch doesn't break."

  "Well, that's a comfort, sir. And what about you, Harry Briggs?"

  "Well, I'm all right, mate; only a bit wet."

  "Wet! You should feel me!" cried Cross, quite jocularly. "How aboutthe rest on you?"

  "Oh, we are up aloft here in the dark, mate," said one of the men. "Idunno as we should hurt so long as we didn't fall asleep."

  "Oh, I wouldn't do that, mates," said Cross. "You might catch cold.You hang yourselves out as wide as you can, so as to get dry."

  "But look here, Joe Cross," shouted Rodd, who was rapidly recovering hisspirits, "you mustn't sit there in the water. Can't you manage to climbup?"

  "Oh yes, sir, I can climb up easy enough, only it don't seem to me asthere's anything to climb."

  "But doesn't the branch you are sitting on go right up to the tree?"

  "No, sir; it goes right down into it, and I'm sitting in a sort of fork,like a dicky bird as has been picking out a handy place for its nest."

  "Then what are you going to try to do?"

  "Nothing, sir, but think."

  "Think?"

  "Yes, sir--about what I'm going to say to the skipper if ever we getsback."

  "Why, what can you say?"

  "That's what I want to know, sir. I know what he'll say to me. He'llsay, Look here, my lad, you were coxswain; I want to know what you havedone with my gig."

  "Ah, the boat!" said Rodd. "Do any of you know what's become of theboat?"

  "I don't," said Briggs.

  "Oh, she's half-way to South Ameriky by this time, sir," said Joe, "andI shall get all the credit of having lost her."

  "Never mind about the boat, Joe."

  "Well, sir, if you talk like that, I don't. But it's the skipper whowill mind."

  "It's nothing to do with him, Joe. It's uncle's boat; and it wasn'tyour fault."

  "Thank you, sir. That's a bit comforting like, and warms one up a bit;but if it's all the same to you I'd raither not talk quite so much, forI don't know as crocs can hear, but if they can it mightn't be pleasant.Well, my lads, just another word; we have got to make the best of itand wait for daylight, and I suppose by that time the tide will havegone right down, and some on you will be getting dry."

  There was silence then, and the men sat holding on to their precariousperches, listening to an occasional sound from the river or the shore,loud splashings right away out in the direction of what they supposed tobe the main current, and an occasional trumpeting wail or shriek fromthe forest--sounds that chilled and produced blood-curdling sensationsat the first, but to which the men became more and more accustomed asthe hours slowly glided on.

  "Look here," said Joe Cross, at last, "because I said I didn't want totalk, that wasn't meant for you who are all right up above the water.It's bad enough to be keeping a watch like this on a dark night, butthat is no reason why you chaps shouldn't tell stories and talk and saysomething to cheer Mr Rodd up a bit. He had about the worst of it,swep' out of the boat as he was. So let go, some on you. You've got todo something, as you can't go to sleep. But I tell you one thing; youchaps are all much better off than I am. I shan't fall out of my bunkon the top of any of you. But look here, Harry Briggs, you always wanta lot of stirring up before one can get you to move. Now then; you havegot a bit of pipe of your own. Sing us a song. Good cheery one, with achorus--one that Mr Rodd can pick up and chime in. Now then, let go."

  "Who's a-going to sing with the water dripping down out of his toes?"

  "Why, you, mate," cried Joe. "There, get on with you. You chaps asknows the best songs always wants the most stirring up, pretending to bebashful, when you want to begin all the time!"

  "I tell you I don't, mate. I'm too cold."

  "Then heave ahead, and that'll warm you up. You tell him he is to sing,Mr Rodd, sir. You're skipper now, and he must obey orders. It'll dous all good."

  "Well," said Rodd, "it doesn't seem a very cheerful time to ask peopleto sing in the dark; but perhaps it will brighten us all up."

  "Ay, ay, sir!" came from the rest.

  "Am I to, Mr Rodd?" said the man appealingly; and after a little morepressing he struck up in a good musical tenor the old-fashioned sea songof "The Mermaid," with its refrain of--

  "We jolly sailor boys were up, up aloft, And the land lubbers lying down below, below, below, And the land lubbers lying down below!"

  right on through the several verses, telling of the sailors'superstition regarding its being unlucky to see a mermaid with a comband a glass in her hand, when starting upon a voyage, right on to thepiteous cry of the sailor boy about his mother in Portsmouth town, andhow that night she would weep for him, till the song ended with theaccount of how the ship went down and was sunk in the bottom of the sea.

  It was a wild sad air, sung there in the branches of that tree amidstthe darkness and night mist, and in spite of a certain beauty in themelody the singer's voice assumed a more and more saddened tone, till hefinished with the water seeming to hiss more loudly through the lowerbranches and the inundated trunks around, and then there was a sharpslapping noise on the surface of the stream that might very well havebeen taken for plaudits.

  Then there was a strange braying sound like a weirdly discordant fit oflaughter; and then perfect silence, with the darkness more profound t
hanever.

  "I'm blessed!" came at last from Joe. "Hark at him, Mr Rodd. He callshisself a messmate! Ast him, I did, to sing us a song to cheer us up.Why, it was bad enough to play for a monkey's funeral march. It's allvery well for you others to join in your chorus about jolly sailor boyssitting up aloft, but what about poor me sitting all the time in a coldhipsy bath, as they calls it in hospitals, expecting every moment tofeel the young crocs a-tackling my toes? Why, it's enough to make afellow call out for a clean pocket-handkerchy. Here, some on you, setto and spin us a yarn to take the taste of that out of our mouths."